The kids still talk about J a lot, usually to reminisce about something funny he said or did. It yanks me backwards, when I am trying to move forwards, towards the future. I have been single since he died, and the thing I miss most about him is his sense of adventure, his childish delight at making things fun for the kids.
To counteract this, I try to think about the chain reaction that only happened because of his suicide. These events have shaped my life as it is now and shown me that it is possible to feel positivity after such a loss.
My mum came to live with us for nearly two months. Exhausted and anxious, she arrived the day after I found J. He was still at the hospital, being kept in an induced coma. She was by my side for the lowest moments and was on the receiving end of the worst of my behaviour: the tears, the anger, the sadness, the frustration. When they told me he wasn’t going to recover I snapped at her for talking over the consultant who delivered the news. She helped organise the wake, I was so detached from it all I couldn’t face it. But she was also just there for the boys’ normal day to day life. I am so happy they got to experience living with her.
I changed my job. If J hadn’t died, it may not have been as easy to leave my job. The company I was working at was sold. Because of the way the sale was structured, I would have been tied in to continue. J and I had talked about me leaving after the sale – we naively didn’t realise that it would be more complicated than that.
After he died my boss spoke to the new owners and explained my circumstances, so I was allowed to walk away. I took on part-time work so I could be around for the kids a little more. I have now moved into consultancy which gives me control, flexibility, independence. My whole way of working has changed. Sad though it sounds, I wouldn’t have had the guts to make the leap if J hadn’t forced my hand.
I changed the house and garden. This sounds trivial but has been a huge part of my recovery. Several people asked me if I would move after what happened. Who knows if I could even sell this house if I had to declare what happened in the garage? But I love the house and the garden and the surrounding countryside.
Since moving to the UK at 18, I have lived in seven cities, and in seventeen different flats and houses (probably more I’ve forgotten). This is the first place that has felt like home.
After J died I tried to make it everything I wanted. When he was here, there were so many things I couldn’t do without causing him to spiral. If I suggested getting someone out to sort the front garden he would take it as a personal affront. As if I were saying: “You are not good enough, you are not doing enough.” He got angry and said he couldn’t even think about it until he finished the kitchen.
The kitchen sat half-finished for over a year – missing tiles, cupboard doors half-painted or removed and never replaced, and a ceiling left bare after the rat-hole repair (that’s a whole other story). After J died, I had an overwhelming urge to fix all of it. The first thing I did was to find someone to finish the kitchen – it took less than two weeks. J couldn’t get there, and towards the end it had become a constant reminder of his own perceived inadequacies.
I took out some of J’s vegetable patches and built a beautiful garden studio. I turned the garage (where it happened) from a cold, messy workshop into a ‘boy-cave’ for the kids.
This won’t be my forever home, it’s too big to keep clean and tidy (two dogs, two teenagers, say no more). So I day-dream about about the bungalow in Devon, within walking distance of town, with a tiny patio and a few plants. Until then, this is my ‘right now’ house and I love it, even more than I did when J was with me.
I made new friends. One of the best friendships that has come out of this has been with Neil. He is a general handyman and was introduced to me by a mutual friend soon after J died. Neil was the person who finished the kitchen and has helped me sort out all the niggles around the house and garden. J used to make it all feel insurmountable. When I started to have doubts if I could continue to deal with J’s escalating mental health issues, I would panic about managing the house on my own. He used to get so worked up about it all that I genuinely believed I wouldn’t be able to do any of it without him.
My favourite thing about Neil is that nothing is a problem – he is so upbeat that he will find a solution for anything. I realise that growing up with my dad’s dark moods and pessimism can at times cause me to be defeatist, but Neil makes me think anything is possible.
We have been on some amazing holidays. Me and the boys would never have been to Saint Lucia for Christmas if J hadn’t died. I’m not sure he would have approved of us splurging and staying in a gorgeous all inclusive 4* hotel. It was the first Christmas in our new reality and I couldn’t face being at home.
Instead, we snorkelled on Christmas Day and saw turtles and colourful fish. We slept in a room with no windows, surrounded by lush rainforest. It was like living in a giant treehouse.
And then the holidays to Tenerife and Croatia with my sister and Louis, would they have happened? Doubtful. Despite being a seasoned traveller, I was surprised at how agitated J became when we went on trips. We had several significant episodes when we went for a long weekend to Exeter and then camping. And the night before we went to Greece to visit my parents.
We had talked about spending the summer after the company sale in a camper van driving across Europe. Would that had ever happened? If I am completely honest, I don’t think it would.
I have thrown caution (and budget) to the wind and booked us a trip to the Maldives next April. If not now, when?
I removed negative influences from my life. Initially this was self-protection. In the first few months I was constantly teetering on the brink of collapse, so I knew I couldn’t cope with negativity. J’s death was the perfect excuse to say: “Sorry I don’t feel up to it.” I was able to distance myself from those people who inadvertently brought me down.
And then I gradually realised I didn’t want this in my life full stop. There were no big show-downs, no arguments – I just quietly stepped away from a few relationships. I feel so much better for it.
I straightened my teeth. Another one for the “I know it sounds trivial, but…” bucket. I’m not a particularly vain person, I quite happily spend most of my time in scruffy dog-walking clothes and no make up. But my crowded teeth had been bothering me for a while to the extent that I was self-conscious smiling. While yes, you could call it vanity, it also significantly affected my confidence. Don’t get me started on smiling for photos. In the wrong light, because my front two teeth were slightly pushed back, it could sometimes look like I had no front teeth at all.
After J died I decided to do something about it. It wasn’t fun. I had braces for 12 months, with elastic bands pulling my teeth back. I looked like a spotty American teen from an 80s movie. An errant wisdom tooth had to be excavated out of my upper jaw. ** Once the wisdom tooth was out I then had to hibernate. I looked like a puffed-up Marlon Brando in The Godfather.
I could have straightened my teeth while J was still with me, he wouldn’t have stopped me. But I don’t think I would have. I was insecure about my looks around him as it was. He was so gorgeous that I’m not sure I would have gone through with it. I do realise how sad it is that I felt that way.
I’ve also cut my hair short (the hairdresser described it as a “feminine pixie cut”) and I love it. I was thinking about this recently, fresh from the sting of my dad telling me I’d be single forever because of my short hair. Would J have liked it?
The further away we get from his death, the less I feel I know him. I don’t know if he would have liked it, isn’t that strange? Obviously, you’d hope that he loved me however I looked. But equally, I preferred him with his beard and would whine when he occasionally shaved it off. It’s weird that I’ll never know how he feels about new things, again.
I am happier than I have ever been. I love my life, my kids, my home, my dogs (most of the time, see previous post). Despite my recent health issues, I feel much more in tune with myself.
I can’t pretend that the anger I feel towards J for putting my two beautiful boys through this, will ever leave me. But I can also find it in my heart to be grateful that he released me. Every day I remind myself to be grateful for the chain of events that his actions triggered. These are what have brought me to this point, where I can look positively towards the future.
*The theme was ‘dreams’ and mine was about that nightmare I occasionally have, where all my teeth are loose. Nathan did the outline and I coloured it in and scanned real teeth (most parents will have some lying around after various tooth-fairy ‘visits’) and stuck them on. Underneath it said: “Oneira glika” (sweet dreams, in Greek). Surprisingly, my submission wasn’t featured. Yes, I know it’s hideous, but it is illustrating the point that my feelings about my wonky teeth were long-standing and deep-rooted (sorry).
**Side-note: Everyone I spoke to said the sedative was the best bit. C told me he couldn’t stop laughing, my friend Rachel said the curtains were talking to her. For me, the second it started working I began to cry – big fat tears rolling down my face like one of those fountains you see at the garden centre, where the water just loops through it continuously. The dentist’s assistant had to keep mopping them up with tissues. I now think that it might have been the only time, with my guard fully down, that I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself.
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